


An Opaque Veil

by ScrappyAsFrick



Category: Naruto
Genre: AU, Aged-Up 18+, Aged-Up Academy Graduation 18, Arranged Marriage, Eventual HEA, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrappyAsFrick/pseuds/ScrappyAsFrick
Summary: Two villages scrambling to replace their respective Kages rely on an age-old method to solidify a tenuous new alliance: an arranged marriage between heartbroken Sakura Haruno and clueless Kazekage elect, trying-to-turn-a-new-leaf Gaara of the Desert.
Relationships: Gaara/Haruno Sakura
Comments: 56
Kudos: 208





	1. Chapter One: Gaara Learns About Taxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Artwork by the very talented @ frostmarris on Tumblr.

# An Opaque Veil

### Chapter One: Gaara Learns About Taxes

Sakura roughly wipes her eyes, the pads of her thumbs stretching the skin to try and make it look less puffy. “Come on, Sakura,” she inhales sharply, “don’t you dare let Sasuke see you like this.” But the thought of him, the young man that she considers her true love, her destiny—and the knowledge that it’s all being ripped away from her—only makes her heart constrict painfully. 

In the wake of their disastrous Chunin Exam, with the death of the Hokage and the revelation of the Kazekage’s body after both were murdered by Orochimaru, both villages were scrambling in a desperate bid to maintain power. Part of that, the need to appear strong so that the other shinobi villages don’t prey upon their situations, resulted in Sakura’s current predicament: engaged to marry Gaara of the Desert, a man she’d only really seen when he was trying to maim her or her friends. And what he turned into… Naruto had described the fight in detail, filling Sakura in on what had happened after she lost consciousness. Sakura shudders at the thought. Is that what was waiting for her?

Her mother knocks on the bathroom door, “Sakura, dear. Your teammates are here to see you off. Are you ready?”

Sakura squares her shoulders, opening the door, and she offers her mom a sheepish smile, “Yeah, sorry.”

“Oh,” her mother sees right through it, pressing a hand to her daughter’s cheek. “Oh, my sweet girl. Everything is going to be okay. The Suna council won’t let anything happen to you, and once things settle with the alliance, we will be right up to visit. Once a new Hokage is chosen, maybe we can talk about permanent relocation as ambassadors.” She pulls Sakura in for a hug, “Everything will be alright. Stand your ground and speak to the council if he tries anything. This is a political marriage, you aren’t required to…” She falters, choking up, “Oh, my sweet baby girl.”

“Don’t cry, mom,” Sakura says, wrapping her arms around her mother. “Come on, you know I’m tough enough to do this. The council has made it abundantly clear that I don’t have to do anything.” She sniffles sharply, and she pulls back, “Just… You always said I should marry rich, right? Think of it like that. Besides, I can help our village from over there.”

“My brave daughter,” her father calls from the hallway, his own eyes damp. “This isn’t right, just because we’re a lesser clan. I’ll—I’ll—” But whatever threat he was going to make about the village dies on his lips, and instead, he opts for a more typical fatherly warning, “If that boy tries anything, you tell me, and I’ll show him what’s what.”

Sakura has to stifle a bitter laugh. Her dad has less of a chance at intimidating Gaara, who she’s heard regularly kills people to remind himself that he’s alive, than overthrowing the village and becoming Hokage himself. “I’m sure I will be fine,” she lies through her teeth. “I understand that it’s my duty as a kunoichi of this village to perform the task assigned to me.”

Her parents share a sympathetic look, but they help Sakura gather her bags and head downstairs. 

Sasuke is grumpier than usual—if she wasn’t leaving, she would’ve been pleased to assume he would miss her. Naruto is openly outraged, complaining that it should’ve been literally any of the other kunoichi their age, only for Sakura to remind him that the other girls their age are from prominent clans in the village. Inwardly, Sakura assumes the councils expect Gaara to kill her in a fit of rage, and don’t want an important clan to have a foot to stand on while demanding revenge—but that’s not Ino or Hinata’s fault, and as much as she doesn’t want to go, she wouldn’t wish probable death on either of the other girls. Kakashi is as collected as ever. Sakura could never get a read on him, and would’ve thought him indifferent, except for the fact that he showed up on time—which is unlike him. 

They arrive at the gate, where a Suna envoy has prepared to escort her, and Sakura is forced to say her goodbyes—to her parents, who whisper prayers of good fortune and good health over their daughter’s head; to Naruto, who vows to become strong enough to be Hokage quickly so he can nullify this stupid marriage and save her; to Kakashi, who affectionately pats her head and reminds her to contact the Suna council with any concerns; to Sasuke, who quietly wishes her luck, and admits that he thinks this whole situation is fucked up; even to Ino, who showed up, promising that she would write. There’s a council member there as well, some nameless woman that Sakura doesn’t even know, who thanks her for her service to the village. 

The envoy lasts five days, slower than the typical route due to weather conditions. There were reports of a large sandstorm near Sunagakure, so they spent some time at an inn near the border between their Lands. Sakura was half happy to put off the inevitable, and half ready to get it over with. It’s not like she has to love the guy.

“You know,” one of her escorts, a man who had introduced himself as Baki, tries to strike up a conversation over dinner, “since his fight with the Jinchuuriki from your village, Gaara has really been making an effort.”

“Oh,” Sakura hums, picking at the chicken left on her plate from a delicious dinner that now tastes sour in her mouth, “you mean the fight where he knocked me out and tried to kill my teammates, right? Yeah, glad he’s doing better.”

Baki winces at that, because what’s he supposed to say? “They’re forcing him into the role of Kazekage, for the record, to wave his strength like a warning to the other shinobi villages. And the engagement was a surprise to him too.”

Sakura feels a little sympathy at that, and squishes it down, annoyed for feeling it. “Well,” she takes a sip from her cup, forcing her face to remain neutral, “then I suppose we’ll have a lot to talk about.” 

Sakura is thankful to arrive at night, the desert chilly and the moon bright over the dunes. Besides looking lovely, this meant most of the village is comfortable in bed, and that she wouldn’t have to deal with the dedicated gawkers under the blistering sun. Some interested faces peek out from their windows, but there’s no eager reception until they arrive to the Kazekage’s compound. 

Several shinobi and councilmembers are waiting, and Gaara himself is standing with them, watching them approach with a blank expression.

Baki nudges Sakura forward, and she walks over to him, bowing politely. 

She had a thousand cordial greetings prepared, and her mind goes absolutely blank. Did she decide to smile, or no, is that too much? What’s she supposed to say it’s a pleasure to see him again? At least this time, there’ll be hopefully less attempted murder? _Hey, remember when you threw me against that tree?_ “Hello,” Sakura decides to go without smiling, because she doesn’t think he’ll be comfortable smiling back, “thank you for coming out to greet me.”

Gaara ducks his head in a partial nod, “Of course. I’m sure you are all exhausted from the long journey. I trust the envoy treated you well?”

Sakura could hardly call the trip exhausting, since they spent two luxurious days at an inn, but she figures that Gaara had just as little to talk with her about as she did with him, “Of course, Lord Kazekage.”

One of the Council quietly corrects her, “My Lady, until his confirmation, Lord Gaara is only the Kazekage elect. ‘Lord Gaara’ would be fine.”

Gaara opens his mouth to respond, eyes narrowed, but Sakura beats him to it.

“Very well, but if that’s the case, then I don’t suppose I would be ‘My Lady’ until we are wed, am I correct? I’ve never been one for proper titles.” Sakura tilts her head, giving the councilmember a rehearsed smile, “Please excuse my carelessness.” Perhaps she is imagining it, but she thought Gaara’s lips flickered in a smile that he quickly contains.

“I would not have you refer to me so formally,” Gaara says, face serious once more. “My first name is enough.”

Why stop there? Sakura thinks snidely to herself. Why doesn’t she just start calling him sweetheart or darling in front of everyone? “Same here.”

Perhaps sensing the rising tension, the councilmember pipes up, “Why, of course, and you must be tired. If you’d please, Lord Gaara, could you show our guest to her room? I do hope the accommodations are adequate, we have prepared a lovely suite for the two of you.”

Sakura stifles a complaint—did they mean for them to share a room? Before the wedding? They couldn’t _possibly._

As if reading her expression, Gaara murmurs, “There are several rooms.”

“Yes, of course,” the councilmember’s clarification doesn’t make her feel any better about it, “room for a nursery, an office, perhaps a playroom for the little ones.”

Sakura bristles at that.

Baki coughs, before urgently moving her forward, “Enough of that, let the girl get some sleep.”

Gaara leads the way to the suite, a few of the shinobi insisting they carry her belongings for her. True to his word, the suite is huge—certainly not them getting shoved into one bedroom together, which is what she imagined. 

A large sitting area, complete with a balcony, parted into five total rooms: Gaara’s, the door closed so she couldn’t see inside, a room haphazardly set up as a new office, a restroom, one empty room, and her own bedroom. It’s a lovely room, with sheer white canopies and luxurious, fluffy bedding. There’s a bookshelf—empty, but she brought some books from home. There’s a large, crimson red loveseat by her window, which faced the village just like the balcony. Presumably, Gaara’s room had a similar view. 

With the shinobi dumping her belongings in her bedroom, eagerly fleeing the presence of their pending Kazekage—someone who, as she understood the situation, everyone here fears—and leaving them alone.

“Do you…” Gaara starts to offer, clearly unsure what to do in this situation, “need any help?” 

“No,” Sakura quips, turning awkwardly toward her room, intimidated at the idea of being alone with her new fiancé. “I probably won’t unpack much tonight. It’s been a long trip.”

“Of course,” he answers sheepishly, taking the hint and heading for his own room.

Sakura starts to enter the room before she hesitates. Gaara hasn’t been rude. “Goodnight, Gaara,” she tests the name out, her hand lingering on the doorframe.

“Goodnight,” he opens his own door, stepping inside, “sleep well.” He closes the door.

Sakura closes her own in return. 

Sakura rifles through some of her belongings, finding a nightgown for some pajamas and an outfit she hopes is suitable for her first day here. She dresses and practically falls in the bed, managing to curl into the sheets before she sniffles sharply. The weight of the encounter hits her. Soon, she would be a bride, to someone she barely knows. Someone dangerous, and someone who certainly isn’t Sasuke. She’s only eighteen. How could this happen to her? She thinks about her parents, and her friends, and how she’s worried that Gaara is only playing cordial—and there will come a time when he loses control and kills her, and she’ll never see any of the people she loves again. She thinks, as a shinobi, that Gaara can probably hear her crying, but she doesn’t have the strength to worry about it tonight.

In the morning, Gaara is already in the shared room, sipping on a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” Sakura greets, only coming out once she is dressed, and she beelines for the balcony in order to build some distance between them. She regrets it immediately—it’s hot as fuck. But she’s already committed to it, so she looks out over the balcony, watching the bustle on the streets below, as most of the village had started their day hours ago.

“Over there is the marketplace,” Gaara’s voice startles her.

“Oh,” Sakura wheezes, trying to calm her racing heart. “That sounds like fun.” She whirls to face him, not liking the idea of him at her back where she can’t see him.

“I’ve never been,” he admits, lingering at the doorway to the balcony. 

Sakura eyes him warily. He’s not an ugly young man—he’s not her Sasuke, but she would even admit he’s handsome, were it not for the murders that marr her opinion of him. His crimson hair is a bit wild, and he rims his sea-foam green eyes with kohl. “Why not?” 

He blinks at her, not sure how to explain his relationship with the village, “I don’t often venture out of the compound.” 

Great. She hopes she’ll be allowed to leave without him, or she’ll be a hermit on top of a village-sanctioned mail-order-bride. “Well, I think I would like to see it eventually, once everything is settled.” Sakura quickly changes the subject, “Did you sleep well?”

Another question he isn’t sure how to explain the answer to. “I don’t sleep.”

Sakura blanches at that. He doesn’t leave, he doesn’t sleep, what next, he doesn’t piss? She can’t help the sarcasm that slips out, “What do you do all night then, stare at the ceiling?” 

“Sometimes,” he answers flatly. “I also like to read.” 

Sakura also likes to read, so she admits, “Oh, I like to read too. I brought some books from home, actually. But I’m sure they aren’t your type.” They’re some of her favorite romances, which she read until they became dogeared, swooning at the idea of Sasuke saying some of the cheesy lines to her. Now, the idea of reading them is bittersweet.

“I’m not very picky. There is little to do here, and I’ve read most of the books.”

Sakura hums at that, a little embarrassed to admit it, but she rips the band-aid off so he won’t ask again, “They’re all romance novels.”

“Alright,” he says, face straight.

Sakura blinks, that response not what she expected, “Alright. Um, sure, then. I’ll lend you some after they’re unpacked.” 

He nods, stepping back inside, as if to encourage her to come in out of the heat, “If you’re hungry, I’ll have food brought here.” 

Sakura follows him in, “Yes, thank you.”

The Council has arranged etiquette lessons for Sakura—which she was initially insulted by, but after a day full of them, she had to admit that she’s pretty terrible at it. When she returns to their shared quarters for dinner to be served shortly, grumbling about all the criticism she received today, she is surprised to find the living room empty.

She glances toward his bedroom door, still shut, and then a clatter from the office draws her attention. She walks over, hesitating, but it’s not like he’s done anything scary so far, so she knocks.

Sure enough, his voice rumbles from the other side of the door. “I’m working on the documents, Baki. I’m almost done.”

Sakura takes a step back, “Oh, sorry, it’s me. I was just checking on you.” Unnecessarily, because she’s nervous, she adds, “Sorry to bother you.”

There’s a moment of silence from the other side, before he calls out, “Could you come in here, Sakura?”

Warily, she opens the door, only to find Gaara face down on the desk, amidst piles of paperwork. She’s caught up in the ridiculousness of the juxtaposition, ‘cold-blooded killer’ Gaara who terrorized the Chunin Exams between piles of legal documents, she openly gapes at him. “Uh…” She starts, not sure what to make of this.

“Do you know how to read a budget report?” He asks, not looking up. 

“Not particularly,” Sakura says, hand darting up to rub the back of her neck, “but I can take a look if you’d like.”

He holds a stapled package up for her, “Yes, thank you.” He peeks up, frowning sternly, “I’ve never given finances a single spare thought. I’m not sure why they felt I was suited for this job.”

Sakura pulls up a spare chair—probably for the occasional small business meeting, or for an advisor to help him with the documents. She starts to skim the paper, absently responding, “Well, because you’re the strongest in the village. Isn’t that how it usually works.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I suddenly understand a school grant,” Gaara grumbles, sitting up to wince at another paper filled with numbers. “I didn’t even _attend_ school.”

Sakura makes a soft noise of surprise, “You didn’t?” Even Naruto, a ward of the village and fellow Jinchuuriki, got to go to school.

“No, I mostly trained with my father from a young age,” he says, shuffling through documents. “Well, there was a break in the training during the assassination attempts, but regardless, my academic tutor mostly focused on the basics—nothing in this context.”

Sakura’s jaw drops, the papers resting in her laps, “The _assassination attempts?”_

“Yes, a period of a few years around age six.” He looks over to her, realizing, “But you don’t have to be afraid. The Council wouldn’t have offered either of us these positions if that was their intent, and either way, I’ll protect you.”

Sakura isn’t sure what to say to that—her main concern coming here had been _him,_ after all, so she quietly responds, “Well, thank you, but that isn’t why I was concerned. That was super fucked up.”

“It was,” he agrees, and because he’s not used to anyone being concerned for him, he goes on. “Did you know citizens have to pay taxes on property they’ve already bought?”

Sakura’s drawn back into the financial conversation, “Are you talking about property taxes?”

He nods curtly, “I wonder if I pay taxes.”

She can’t help it, she laughs, “Of course you pay taxes! Everyone pays taxes. Haven’t you ever bought anything?”

Gaara pauses, “People are always sent out to buy things for me, so I don’t have to go into the shops.” But he’s clearly pleased with her reaction, offering up, “You should have seen me this morning, reading through the village’s laws. Did you know I should be in jail?” 

Sakura laughs even harder, snorting sharply, “Did you… Did you think there were no laws?”

“No,” he explains, the red tips of his ears the only indication he’s embarrassed, “I thought they didn’t apply to me, but now I realize everyone was too frightened to try and arrest me. How is everyone supposed to take me seriously charging someone for murder when I’ve committed several high profile murders?”

Sakura covers her mouth, trying to quell the laughter, because she knows the subject matter is serious, and when she’s settled, she speaks, “I don’t think it’s too late to change everyone’s mind about you.”

He sighs solemnly at that, a hand pressed to his temple, “Do you think so?”

It’s hard to find him as scary as the half-transformed monster she’d seen in the woods that day, and reconcile that image with the young man sitting before her who doesn’t understand taxes and has been nothing but cordial with her, “Sure, why not? I think people change, and if you do a good job, they’ll eventually see you as someone reliable.”

He nods thoughtfully at that, “Alright, I can do that.”

Sakura, impressed with him, begins scanning the budget report, “So the most important parts of the report are broken down here, and everything else seems to be an analysis of the data.” She leans forward, holding the paper so they can both examine it, and they chatter about the finances of the village for just under an hour when there’s a knock on the suite door. 

Sakura starts to stand, ready to answer the door so Gaara can keep working, but he motions for her to stay seated. 

“State your business,” Gaara calls out.

“It’s Baki, Lord Gaara. With dinner for you and Lady Sakura, as well as notes for the upcoming Council meeting.”

“Enter.”

In response, the door opens, and Baki pushes a cart into the room. He pauses at the sight of them in the office together, both holding paperwork. “Oh,” he blanches, “Lady Sakura, you’re helping Lord Gaara with the paperwork?”

Sakura isn’t sure why, but she feels embarrassed, like she’s been caught in something, even though city financial documents are some of the least risque subjects imaginable, “Of course. I’ve always been told I have an eye for academics.”

He looks between them, and Gaara must pick up on Sakura’s discomfort, “Thank you. Please, leave the cart. We have a lot that I need to review.” 

They take a break from Gaara’s mountain of paperwork, sitting at the small table for dinner—it’s the first time that they’ve used it together, since Gaara had already eaten breakfast before Baki had brought a platter of cut fruit for her.

Gaara sits, and Sakura sits opposite him, looking at the stew with delight, “Mm, smells delicious.” 

“It does,” he nods, taking a bite. Quietly, he acknowledges, “It’s nice to have company.”

Sakura softens a bit at that. “Well,” she says with a grin, “let’s have dinner together often!”

“Yes,” he agrees, face too serious. 

Sakura diverts the laughter she feels in her chest by eating, and Gaara begins to ask polite questions about her day. She begins to ramble about the Council and their annoying lessons in etiquette, scrunching her nose as she remembers, “Apparently, I can make a perfect clone of myself, but I can’t pick the right salad fork or perform a noble wave.”

“As far as the forks go, from the left-in, it’s salad, fish, dinner—reverse alphabetical order,” Gaara surprises her. “Dessert cutlery is above the plate, but use whatever fork you please. No one would dare be discourteous to my bride. Eat fish with a spoon, if you’d like.”

“Pfft,” Sakura chuckles, “Look at you, surprisingly noble.”

“Ah,” he averts his eyes, “my Uncle taught me that as a child.”

“So, you have two siblings, an Uncle—”

“He passed when I was young,” Gaara says, picking halfheartedly at his stew, one hand resting on the table.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sakura says, reaching forward to tap her fingers on top of his—he zones in on it, but she isn’t sure if the contact is intrusive or not, and when she pulls away neither of them mention it. 

After they finish up dinner, Gaara hesitates by the entrance of the office, “I can review these on my own.”

Sakura’s a bit deflated—not that she felt anything romantic toward him, but she at least thought they were getting along, against all of her preconceived worries about him.

“I’ve taken up too much of your time,” he continues. “You should unpack and get some rest. I can review the notes for the Council meeting on my own. We could continue going over the other documents… another time?”

Ah. So, he isn’t being cold. Sakura smiles, “Yes, that would be fine. I would like the room to feel like home. But please, call me back over if you want to, I don’t mind.” She heads off to her room, ready to rifle through her belongings.

Gaara sits, rereading the first sentence over and over again, thinking how unfair it would be to immediately call her back over. But he wanted to. He forces himself to concentrate, a hand pressed to his temple, his eyes comically wide as he focuses on the same sentence for the sixth time.

Sakura yanks a bag onto the bed, digging through her clothes and tossing them in a lump on her bed. Her books were buried underneath—all romances. She picks her favorite, a dogeared story about a dedicated soldier who falls for his Lady, the wife of a cruel Lord. She flushes at the idea of lending it to him, knowing there’s no sex scenes, but the romance is gratuitous and it comes pretty damn close. 

She procrastinates, hanging all of her clothes, categorizing them by type and then by color; she deftly folds her underwear, socks, and pajamas, and stuffs them in their appropriate drawer; when the sun set, she flicks her bedroom light on, and takes some time to marvel at the view outside her window; she alphabetizes her books by author’s last name, and then she’s out of stuff to do. Her door is open, in case Gaara calls for her—but she hasn’t, so would she be intruding if she interrupts him to offer the book? And he’d said alright, but did he really want to read her sappy romance novel? Isn’t he busy with all his paperwork?

She shakes her head, annoyed with herself. Whatever, Sakura. Just give it to him. She walks out, gingerly holding the book in her arms, and stops in the open doorway of the office.

His head immediately snaps up.

“Hey, you, um, asked for some of my books?” She starts, and then chastises herself—duh, he was there. “Well, anyway, this one’s my favorite. So—so you better not make fun of it, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, face stern.

Sakura’s too embarrassed by his expression, ready to get out of there as quickly as possible, so she squeaks, “Great, I’ll leave it out here.” She sets it on the table, practically speed walking back to her room and calling back, “Well, goodnight!” 

Gaara blinks, watching her go, tempted to call her back—he makes the excuse that she could better explain the idea of a ‘fundraiser’ to him. Couldn’t they just… make more money?


	2. Chapter Two: Sixty Percent Sure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, thank you for reading, for your kudos, and for your comments. :)

# An Opaque Veil

### Chapter Two: Sixty Percent Sure

  
In the morning, Gaara won’t look her in the eye. 

They eat a quiet breakfast together as Sakura spirals. He started the book. He definitely started the book, and he hates it. She notices his red ears, flushed nearly as red as his hair. He must be so embarrassed by the book she leant him that he doesn’t know what to say to her.

In part, this annoys Sakura. He didn’t have to agree to borrow the book. She warned him, it’s not her fault that he didn’t like it, and it’s certainly no reason to sit here in silence. Whatever. They don’t have to have the same tastes, right? So what if it’s sappy. Sure, with his personality and reputation, she isn’t surprised that it’s not his type, but  _ come on— _

“‘The Gods can’t be real,’” Gaara says quietly, focusing on the rim of his coffee cup. “‘They wouldn’t have given me you.’”

Her face flushes beet red. “Ex—Excuse me?” She openly gawks at him.

“Chapter Five,” he explains, gripping his fork with alarming intensity, his knuckles white. “It’s my favorite line so far. I’m enjoying it.”

Sakura wheezes. Right. The book. She knows he has no social skills, but he’s going to give her a heart attack if he goes around saying romantic crap like that with a straight face. “You’re pretty far,” she says absently, her brain taking a second to calm her poor heart before she processes, “Wait! That line comes right after the balcony scene.” She starts to gush, remembering one of her favorite scenes of the novel, “What part are you at?”

“Kaito kissed Yua for the first time. The author implies that her husband saw.” He ducks his head, and Sakura is surprised with how bashful he looks in admitting, “I’ve never read anything like this before. I have no experience with anything like that.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be shy about it,” Sakura chuckles, picking at her eggs. “I’ve never been kissed either. You can still like romance novels.”

“You’ve never been kissed?” Gaara asks, clearly surprised, eyes darting up to meet hers.

“Never!” She shrugs. “It’s not like I’ve been saving it on purpose or anything. This one time I really thought it was going to happen—right after we became teammates, on a bench outside the academy. He ended up feeling sick, so it didn’t work out. But it was so romantic! I just knew in my gut it was the right moment, like true love, something straight out of a story,” Sakura sighs at the memory, before realizing it’s pretty rude to blather about the guy she loves in front of her fiancé. “Oh! But not everything works out the way you think it will, you know? We’ll kiss at the wedding ceremony, obviously, so at least I made Mom proud and waited until marriage.” 

Gaara squints at her, processing her story, “So, your ‘true love’ is Naruto?” He had to admit, Naruto Uzumaki had a way with people—even reaching him when he was in a dark place. A fair enough choice.

Sakura, relieved that he isn’t annoyed with her, says, “No, the other teammate.” Well, it’s an arranged marriage on his part too, so she guesses that he understands. 

“The  _ other one?” _ Gaara sneers in distaste. “The  _ Uchiha?”  _ He dislikes that idea—the Uchiha reminds him of himself, and that’s not a compliment. 

“Yeah, Sasuke,” Sakura affirms. “Come on, you saw him, he’s so cool! Like a knight straight out of a book!” She leans back in her chair, “That was the only time I thought he was  _ really _ interested romantically, but we were so close to kissing, I thought it was going to work out eventually.”

Gaara considers that for a moment, “I’m sorry.” 

Sakura shakes her head, “You don’t have to apologize. You got roped into this whole thing too. Probably weird having some strange Leaf girl around all the time.”

“I like it,” he answers, and Sakura is charmed for a moment, before he ruins it: “You talk a lot.” 

Sakura shoots him an open-mouthed look of disbelief.

“In a good way,” he clarifies. “I used to sit in silence whenever I wasn’t training or being tutored—both my father and tutor were reluctant to talk much even when they were here, and everyone else avoided me entirely until shortly before the Chunin Exams.”

Sakura’s brows knit and her face pulls into a frown, “That sounds… really lonely.” 

“It was,” he admits somberly, face twisting to surprise when Sakura brazenly taps him on the nose. 

“Well you’ve got me now, to inevitably get on your nerves. I promise to be extra loud and talkative, just for you,” she beams.

Gaara watches her bright smile, the way her nose wrinkles with it. On his nerves? Does she find herself annoying? She can’t see herself that way—she’s joking, she has to be. “Please do.” 

She snorts, “You know, I never would have guessed you were funny.”

He was serious, but if she finds him amusing, he’ll accept the compliment. 

“If we had to be forced to marry somebody, at least we made a friend, right?” She continues chipperly, finishing up her food. She knows what she witnessed in the woods—Gaara as the killer—and she certainly intends to keep her guard up, but she can’t help but think he’s got no intention to hurt her. If he was going to do something, wouldn’t he have already? It’s not like she could stop him.

Gaara blanks, answering her with a small, “Right.” Friends. They’re friends. She’d said so herself. His shoulders curl in and he clears his plate, walking it to the serving cart in order to buy himself a moment and compose himself. When he returns, he chats with her about the legal documents and meeting notes he read yesterday. 

Soon, it’s time for Sakura to leave for her etiquette lesson, so Sakura groans and makes her way to the door, leaving her plate on the cart. “Bye Gaara,” she calls back as she heads out the door, “have a good day!” 

Kankuro is at her etiquette lesson—she wouldn’t have recognized him if he hadn’t introduced himself when she walked in. He’s not wearing the face paint he wore when they’d originally, and briefly, met. His natural hair is a dark brown and Sakura is thrown off by how different the siblings all looked from one another. “Hello,” she greets with a bow that earns a smile from her etiquette teacher, “my apologies for not recognizing you, Lord Kankuro.”

“There’s no need for formalities,” he waves a hand at her. “Kankuro is fine.”

“Alright,” Sakura says, glancing between him and the councilman that teaches her. “May I ask what brings your visit?”

“I was asked to come to help with your dance lessons.”

“My dance—“ Sakura scoffs, pressing a hand to her temple. “Not that I’m ungrateful for your help, but I was told specifically that we weren’t permitted a reception for the wedding, so is this really necessary?” The desire she has to waltz around the room for several hours with a practical stranger is near zero.

“Lady Sakura,” the councilman speaks up with a weary smile, “surely, as the Kazekage’s wife, you will dance at political functions.” 

“Then don’t you think I should be learning with Gaara?” Sakura asks, confused. 

Kankuro doesn’t bother to contain his laughter, “You think we could get Gaara in here for dance lessons? It’ll be easier to learn with me.”

Sakura holds in a frown. Did they bother to ask him? If she’s expected to dance at events, then surely, she’d be expected to dance with her husband? But fine, if Kankuro wants his feet stepped on as she learns whatever formal dances they do here, who is she to deny him?

…

Meanwhile, Baki comes by the room to check Gaara’s progress with the documents. Upon entering, he finds the Kazekage elect reading some tattered novel. “Lord Gaara…” Baki stands at the doorway warily, “should you be using this time for light reading? Have you finished reviewing all of this material?”

Gaara looks up at him, indifferent to his plight, and asks, “Baki, tell me about kissing.”

Baki sputters, at a loss for words, “Wh—I couldn’t possibly…”

“Because you don’t know how.” Gaara inflects it as a statement, not a question. 

“No,” Baki protests, “that’s not it, I—” He pauses, dumbfounded, “Did Lady Sakura ask you to kiss her?”

“No.” 

Baki blinks, looking at the book again, and then up at Gaara, “Do not kiss Lady Sakura without her permission. That would be wrong, and you’ll frighten her.” 

Gaara’s eyes narrow into a glare, “I’m asking to better understand  _ the book, _ Baki. I’m not going to attack Sakura.”

Baki gives an exasperated wave of the hand, as if to indicate that Gaara has occasionally committed crimes, so how is he supposed to know what he is or isn’t going to do? “Alright, well, what exactly do you need to know?”

“They just… push their mouths together?” Gaara flips to the next page of his book, resuming his reading.  _ “Why _ do people kiss?” 

Baki runs a hand over his linen wrap, wondering how he ended up in this predicament, “Well, when you kiss someone, you  _ gently _ push your lips together, or I guess forcefully if it’s particularly—anyway, sometimes if the situation is right— I don’t know, people kiss because they like each other, and it makes them feel impassioned.” 

“What about ‘true love,’ as opposed to regular love?”

“Is this from your book too?”

“Answer the question,” Gaara grumbles.

“‘True love’ is the one person you have romantic feelings for and are meant to be with, if you believe in that sort of thing,” Baki answers, uncomfortable by the quickly growing severity in Gaara's expression as he explains. “I don’t know if I’m the best person to be explaining this, one of your siblings might—”

“You may leave,” Gaara huffs, placing his bookmark and snapping the book shut. “One thing, before you go. The fundraising—can’t we print more money instead?”

Baki stares, ready to flee. So… he  _ had _ read the meeting notes? “It doesn’t work that way, Lord Gaara.”

“Very well. Go then,” he says, clearly annoyed.

Baki takes his leave, sucking in a deep breath as soon as he’s safe outside the suite. Why did he ask if he’s just going to get mad about it? 

…

Her teacher kept chanting the rhythm that she’s supposed to be following, one-two-three, but—and Sakura can’t emphasize this enough—Kankuro would not shut the fuck up. 

“He hasn’t even threatened you yet?” Kankuro grumbles in disbelief. “He’s threatened me pretty much every time we’ve spoken since he was little.”

“No, he’s been nothing but polite to me.” Sakura tries to keep her composure, knowing that she’s a guest in another land, and that she’ll have no political sway until the wedding—no, after that, not until Gaara is officially the Kazekage. But it’s sure tempting to put him in his place. After all, it’s not as though Sakura’s first impression of Kankuro was a positive one: threatening a little boy who had only bumped into him. In fact, if she remembers correctly, it had been  _ Gaara _ who ultimately intervened and ended the whole scene. “You know, if you have something to say to your brother, you should probably say it to  _ him.”  _

“Maybe if I was a pretty girl like you, he’d bother to listen to me,” Kankuro scoffs. 

Sakura would bat her lashes every incident and say stepping on his feet thirteen times during practice was an accident, but she would be lying. 

When she finally returns to the room—sweaty, tired, and irritated—she’s ready for a shower. She waves to Gaara through the open office door as she enters their suite, loudly proclaiming, “Your brother is annoying.” 

Without skipping a beat, he calls back, “I’ll kill him the next time I see him.” 

Sakura errs on the side of caution, “I’m like sixty percent sure you’re joking, but just in case, you should definitely not do that.”

Gaara was not joking, but he nods his head, “As you wish. Your teacher required him there?”

“For ballroom dancing,” Sakura complains loudly as she goes into her room to collect a change of clothes for her shower. “It was so boring,” she says, peeking back into the office with an armful of her new clothes. “Did anyone ask you to go?”

He doesn’t look up from his document, but she can see the way one of his hands is clenching the edge of his desk. “No,” he admits, lips twisting into a deep frown, “they did not.” 

“Kankuro implied he didn’t think you would come,” Sakura hums, resting against the door frame. “I know you’re busy, but I’d rather dance with you.” 

He doesn’t respond, eyes trained on his paper, so Sakura goes on.

“I just think it would make the most sense practicing with my future husband,” Sakura explains. “I don’t want to learn to dance under the assumption I’ll be dancing with random people more than you at social events.”

“I would be honored,” Gaara agrees quietly, his grip relaxing on the edge of the desk.

“Great!” Sakura perks up, “I’m going to take a shower because I’m gross, but if you want, later I can quickly go over the steps I learned today so you won’t be behind.” She starts to leave, before she pauses, grinning sheepishly, “Oh! I know it’s not really my business, and I don’t have any siblings, but… you should probably talk to Kankuro. I think he genuinely believes you don’t like him.”

Gaara did not genuinely like Kankuro, he felt nothing for either of his siblings—but at her smiling expression, he nods amicably, “Perhaps I should.” For a friend, it’s worth a conversation. 

The rest of the day crawls by, a freshly showered Sakura reading through city infrastructure proposals to be discussed at the upcoming Council meeting—with a short break for dinner—and helping Gaara work through the table of contents until the sun starts to set. 

“I can’t look at another graph tonight,” Gaara grumbles, roughly adding the last report to his pile of conquered papers. 

“I’ll teach you the dance steps,” Sakura offers. “Come on, we can practice on the balcony. The sun’s setting, it won’t be too awful out there.”

He agrees, relieved to be done looking at the reports, and shortly finds himself on the balcony as Sakura leads him to place his hand on her waist. He nearly twinges in annoyance at the first position—Kankuro had his hand here? For hours? But when her other hand slips into his, as she explains the stance for him to lead and the steps he’d have to take, he’s distracted from his irritation with his brother. 

One-two-three: Sakura counts out the steps for them both, watching her feet, nervous to step on him.

Gaara watches her, Sakura’s skin softly glowing in the warm tones of the setting sun. The steps are simple enough. Her hand is small, in his. He can feel the callouses that have just started to build from her time as a Genin—a career that came to a crashing halt, thanks in part to him. He wonders who he can talk to about that, to allow her to continue her career in some capacity, if she desires. 

She continues to count, her voice hushed, since it’s just the two of them. He’s in the position to lead, but she’s the one dictating, his movements quick enough to respond to hers before their feet collide. “Okay,” she says finally, noticing that he’s started to lead on his own, “I think you’ve got it.” 

He hesitates, causing Sakura to bump into him. Sure enough, she accidentally steps on his foot—a true accident, compared to her petty digs at his brother. 

“Sorry,” she squeaks, finally looking up at him, and she’s alarmed; with his eyes half-lidded, his lips spread in a small smile, she had never imagined a man so adept at killing could look at her so gently.

“It’s my fault,” he mumbles, reminding himself of Baki’s warning. Sakura would be frightened if he kissed her. It would be wrong. He blinks away the impulse, releasing her hand and waist. “I believe I understand the steps. We can continue this with your teacher tomorrow. You should get some rest.” 

“Oh,” Sakura says, surprised and flushed. “Of course!” She takes a generous step back. Sakura wonders if she’s imposing—they haven’t been practicing long, but maybe she’s being a burden. He’s been working all day, surely he’d prefer to relax than entertain her. She makes her exit first, stepping inside and wishing him a good night.

Gaara stays out there a while more, long after the sun dipped completely below the city of Suna and the sky shifted to night. He stays long after the stars begin to appear in the sky, a wax moon shining above. He watches the palm of his hand, where he’d held hers, and he reminds himself that he’s being a fool. 

Sakura sits on the loveseat in her room, using a hardcover book as a flat surface to begin penning out letters to home on a stationary set she had thoughtfully received during one of Baki’s food deliveries and a pen she’d taken from the office. 

She writes to her mother and father, a lengthy letter about how she is faring well in Suna—it’s a bit boring, in fact, full of lessons in manners and dinnerware and ballroom dancing. In fact, her mother would be thrilled with it. The food is delicious, but she already misses her mother’s home cooking, and their lively conversations around the dinner table. She assures them that Gaara has been a complete gentleman and, for the most part, their limited time together has been spent learning more about running a city than she’s ever cared to know. 

She writes to Ino, not entirely sure what to say—checking in, saying she’s doing well, and inquiring about her family. They haven’t been friends for years, but she had to admit, she was touched when Ino showed up to say goodbye. 

She writes to Kakashi, to thank him for seeing her off, to say that she’s settling well, and to jokingly wish him luck with keeping her two former—which stung quite a bit to write—teammates in line. She never had much of a repertoire with her teacher, but she thought he at least deserved an initial letter.

Her longest letter is to Naruto. She assures him that she’s well and reminds him not to pick fights; To her surprise, she misses Icharaku’s ramen; She hopes his training is going well. Most importantly, for the real substance of her letter, she rehashes the events of the Chunin Exams—specifically, their experiences with Gaara—and assures Naruto that she truly believes his fight with Gaara has changed his outlook. Of course, no one fixes themselves overnight, but he’s been nothing but polite to the point where if she hadn’t met him during the Exams, she wouldn’t have believed he was the same person. He’s trying, she offers, and that’s a step forward she wouldn’t have believed possible. 

She feels obligated to write to Sasuke, though her heart constricts at how much she misses him. She’s tried to avoid thinking about it, knowing her fate has branched off in a different direction. Does he miss her? Does he wish—? She shakes her head, annoyed with herself, and writes a fairly bareboned letter stating that she’s well and that she hopes he is doing well also. She grabs her completed pile of letters, stacked with the first she’d written on the bottom and the newest on the top, and goes out to place them on the table for Baki to take with breakfast. Gaara had already retreated to her room, but she pays it little mind, assuming he’s resting from a long day of paperwork. She returns to her room, ready to settle down and start rereading another old favorite. 

In the morning, up before her as usual, Gaara heads out into the living room, his book in hand. He notices the pile of letters on the table, eyes drawn to the name on top: Sasuke Uchiha. He huffs, running a hand through his hair, and he quickly retreats to his office to avoid looking at that damn name a moment longer. 


	3. Chapter Three: Tell the Earth to Swallow Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you as always for reading, for your comments, and for your kudos. :) As always, please check my profile if you're curious what I'm working on when I'm not updating. I do update that status every few days.

#  An Opaque Veil 

###  Chapter Three: Tell the Earth to Swallow Me 

Sakura has never had a test of composure as great as looking at her poor teacher, clearly on the verge of pissing his pants, when she walks into the room with Gaara and not bursting into laughter. But she greets the councilman and Kankuro with a bright smile and announces, “Hello, I asked Gaara if he wouldn’t mind attending! That’s not a problem, is it?” 

“Of course not, Lady Sakura,” the councilmember wheezes, bowing his head sharply. “It is a pleasure to be in your presence, Lord Gaara.”

Gaara nods curtly, before he greets his brother, “It appears we’ve wasted your time. You won’t be needed here.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Kankuro says, clearly uncomfortable, side eyeing Sakura as though she could’ve possibly sent him a warning.

“Good.” Gaara says, tilting his head downward in a brief bow, “We will need to meet at a later point, soon, when you are available. It’s imperative to me to build a team of intelligent and capable counselors that I can trust.”

Kankuro blinks, processing the job offer placed before him. “Of—Of course, that would be an honor.”

“You should join us for dinner this evening,” Gaara offers. He glances beside him, and Sakura looks pleased, so he’s pleased as well. “Extend the invitation to Temari as well, if you could.”

“Dinner,” Kankuro echoes in disbelief. 

“With you and Temari,” Gaara confirms, furrowing his brow. “You’ll be there? We dine around six.”

It occurs to Sakura that Gaara intended that as a question, but Kankuro takes it as an order, gulping as he nods in agreement. She stifles her chuckle by clearing her throat.

“I’ll let Temari know,” Kankuro mumbles, bowing his head and quickly departing. 

Once he’s gone, Gaara turns to Sakura, clearly proud of himself, “That went well.” He offers his hand out to her, not giving the councilmember a spare glance, “Shall we?” 

Sakura takes the initiative to address the councilmember, smiling politely, “We’ve gone over the old steps. Should we demonstrate?” She takes his hand, allowing him to pull her in so that they’re ready to go when the music plays.

The councilmember, openly gawking, visibly gathers himself, “Yes, let me queue the music. Thank you, Lord and Lady.” 

The music starts, and Gaara readjusts his grip on her—though his face is blank, Sakura suspects he’s nervous, so Sakura gives him a closed lip smile that she hopes is reassuring. He’s only a little taller than her, she muses, but handsome. As they start to dance, the councilmember counting out the beat for them, she can sense his nerves beginning to ease: the tenseness leaves his shoulders, his grip on her hand and waist are more relaxed, and he matches her thin smile. 

“Excellent,” the councilmember calls out, “now, Lord Gaara, try to dip her at the end of step three.”

He visibly tenses back up, so Sakura quickly assures him that it’s alright, and on three he grips her waist harsher than he intends to as she tries to dip her back. It’s awkward and unnatural, and sure enough as he dips Sakura her legs wobble and she falls backward. 

Sakura yelps, hand leaving his shoulder to try and brace for the floor, the other hand slipping from his fingers. But she never hits the ground, Gaara’s hand swiftly positioning itself along her back and yanking her up. They collide clumsily, chests bumping as they both regain their balance, but she’s relatively unharmed. “Thanks,” she says sheepishly, a hand darting up to tame her hair.

He’s silent, looking at her sternly, searching for a sign of injury. 

Sakura realizes he’s panicking, so she adds, “I’m fine.”

“Perhaps we will practice the dip again, slowly,” the councilmember offers, to ease the tension. “Lord Gaara, the key is to hold Lady Sakura firmly by the back and not the hip, so she doesn’t fall.”

Gaara’s face contorts in a brief frown, for only Sakura to see, and he grumbles, “I didn’t intend to drop you. Perhaps I’m not cut out for this.”

“Don’t say that, we just have to practice,” Sakura assures him. “Could you throw a kunai perfectly the first time you tried it?”

“Yes,” Gaara mumbles petulantly.

Sakura barely conceals a snort, which visibly perks him up, “Okay, well let’s pretend the answer was no, so I can tell you it’s like that and we just need to keep trying.”

There’s a perhaps timid, closed lip smile on his face, and he offers a hushed apology, not wanting to sour the mood. 

The practice went smoothly, though the councilmember timidly departed during their lunch break despite Sakura asking him to join them. Sure enough, throughout the practice, they manage several textbook traditional dips, Gaara’s form straightening as he clearly develops more confidence in the move. It’s his eyes, bright with that confidence as he dips her, that forces a flush up Sakura’s neck.

She clears her throat as he lets her up, absently tucking her hair behind her ears, “Maybe we’ve had enough for today?” Sakura adds, fibbing, “I’m feeling a little dizzy.”

“Of course, Lady Sakura,” the councilmember says, turning off the music. “It’s best not to overdo it.” 

“Do you need my—” Gaara starts, before Sakura interrupts.

“No!” She says too forcefully. “I mean—That came out weird. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just don’t think I should dance any more for today.”

Gaara eyes her dubiously, clearly given pause by her sudden rejection. “Of course. Please let me know if you continue feeling unwell.”

Embarrassed by the force of her refusal, Sakura sheepishly nods in response. She says a polite goodbye to the councilmember, before the pair embarks on a terribly awkward, silent walk back.

They return to the suite and Sakura stretches, yawning with relief as soon as the door closes, “Alright, I better shower before your siblings come over.” 

Gaara nods curtly, headed for his own room, “Very well. I’ll go after you.” 

Sakura nods without looking, heading for her room to grab a change of clothes—nothing too heavy, a red blouse and white pants, formal enough for hosting dinner and casual enough to emphasize that it’s in her own home—Gaara’s home—well, their home. It’s hers too now, and Temari and Kankuro would be her in-laws shortly. 

Thinking on that, she heads for the bathroom. She sets her clothes down, starting up the water and changing out of her sweaty clothes. Her fingers brush along a sore spot down her back, where Gaara had roughly applied pressure in his attempts to prevent her from falling during their dips. Ouch. She frowns. That’s going to bruise. Sakura steps into the showing, huffing at herself. God, what the hell? Why did she freeze up like that? It's a textbook awkward Sakura move, and she’s pretty sure she hurt his feelings. She should apologize, right? 

As she washes her hair, she muses about dinner. It’s hard to imagine her getting along with Temari like she’d gotten along with Ino as young children, and the thought made her snort. Everything from the flower picking to the mutual crush is hilarious. Well, at least with Temari, Sakura doesn’t have to worry about the ‘competition,’ since he’s her brother and all. Sakura snorts, moving her head from the stream of water to stifle her laughter while avoiding getting the shampoo in her eyes. Still, as she remembers Temari, the girl is twice as likely to beat her up as befriend her. Then again, like Kankuro, Temari’s afraid of Gaara.

And she knew  _ why, _ of course. She saw him during the Exams, hell, he almost killed her. One of her hands massages her sore muscles. He’s still capable of it, she supposes, but… the thought doesn’t sit right. If he was going to hurt her, or even if he actually intended to hurt his siblings—she has to believe he would’ve already. She washes the remaining conditioner from her hair, taking comfort in the scent; vanilla isn’t her signature strawberry, but it’s kind of comforting. So, that means Sakura doesn’t have anything to worry about with either Temari or Kankuro, because Gaara would step in if they tried to hurt her. 

Sakura turns the water off and moves to step out of the shower when she slips, letting out a yelp of alarm as her ass hits the tile floor of the shower. 

There’s audible movement from outside, the door handle turning sharply before there’s a hesitation in opening it. “Sakura?” Gaara’s voice calls out from the other side.

“Don’t come in!” Sakura shrieks, hands moving to cover her breasts, legs curling up defensively from the floor of the tub, her already heat flushed cheeks glowing brightly. “I’m fine!”

There’s a pause, and when there’s no explanation from her, he says, “Alright.” 

Sakura can’t hear anything, but shinobi tend to move quietly, so she assumes he’s gone. She stands, legs wobbly from her long day and her fall. Her pride is more than a little bruised. Probably her ass too. She slowly dries herself with a towel, grumbling about the embarrassment and her misfortune. She goes to dress and pauses. Dammit, she forgot her bra. She sighs, agitated, pulling on her pants. Sakura wraps her towel around her torso, grabbing her bundle of dirty clothes, and her unworn shirt, before she pulls open the door.

Gaara is standing on the other side of the door, impatiently rocking on the balls of his feet. His face brightens when he sees her, and then the state of her attire dawns on him and he sharply averts his eyes. 

Sakura swallows a startled yelp, clutching her towel tighter against her chest, but her question still comes out with a bite, “What the hell?!” 

“I didn’t mean to—” Gaara steps to the side, and Sakura rushes past him, “I wasn’t  _ spying, _ I—”

“You were standing right outside the door,” Sakura whirls at her doorway, forgetting herself for a moment in her rage. 

“I was worried you were hurt,” Gaara protests. “So I thought you might need me. Did I do something wrong?”

Her mettle starts to soften at the panic in his eyes, at his fists balled into the bottom of his shirt. Right. A pervert is probably the last thing anyone here accused him of. “I slipped in the shower,” Sakura starts sheepishly, “but I told you not to come in because, obviously, I was naked.”

He nods, and Sakura notices the bright burn of a blush from his cheeks to his ears, “I apologize, I didn’t think of that.”

Sakura blinks, not quite sure what she’s supposed to say to that, “You didn’t think… of me being naked in there? Gaara, you can’t barge in on people in the bathroom.”

“Even if I think you’re injured, or in danger?” Gaara challenges, eyes on the floor to avoid looking directly at her. 

“Wh—” Sakura blanches, searching for a compromise and blurting out, “Maybe if I’m in actual danger, or like I can’t answer you or something. Not when I’ve just bruised my ass, okay?”

“So you are injured?” Gaara asked, eyes flitting up before he grows embarrassed and downturns them again.

“No!” Sakura steps backward into the room, mortified that she said that, “Please never mention this again, or I’ll die of embarrassment.” She closes the door, heaving a sharp breath. That’s it. She was wrong. She can’t do this. She drops her towel, digging angrily through her clothes for a bra. When she finds one, the first chuckle slips out. More come, and by the time she finishes getting dressed, she’s in a significantly better mood.

“That man, I swear,” Sakura begins to pull up her wet hair. “I know he’s never been around a girl, but  _ come on.” _ She side eyes the door, huffing. Sasuke would never accidentally peep on her, right? But she can no longer summon the self righteous anger. He was worried about her. 

Meanwhile, Gaara, tasked with his own shower, is faced with the reality that underneath her clothes, Sakura is consistently naked. He presses his forehead against the shower wall, upset with himself for this revelation. He jerks back, realizing he’s wasting water and beginning to wash his hair. She’d be angry with him for thinking like this.

…

At dinner, they sit awkwardly across from Temari and Kankuro, equally awkward for different reasons.

“So,” Temari starts, picking at a potato with a fork, “I hear you’ve really taken to the paperwork…” She trails off, looking to Kankuro for support.

Kankuro meets her gaze, before he squares his shoulders, “Honestly, we were a little worried,” when Gaara raises his brow to that, Kankuro’s confidence falters, “about how you would adjust to something so different from your, erm, typical shinobi life.”

Gaara nods, accepting this answer, “It is certainly different. Baki has been helpful in annotating the documents, and Sakura has helped me go through them.” With little preamble, as Sakura supposes is his style, he goes on, “That’s part of the reason I’ve invited you both to meet. You both care deeply for the village, and I can trust your viewpoints have the best intentions for it. I would like you to both have seats on my council.”

Sakura studies them both for a reaction—Kankuro, who’d already been told by Gaara that this is the reason for their dinner, remains collected and Temari shoots Kankuro a brief glance, as though he’d warned her and she hadn’t believed him.

“I’m flattered,” Temari says, her hands intertwining, “but I have to admit, I’m a little surprised. I never thought you liked us much.”

“I don’t.”

Sakura chokes on her bite of potato. 

Gaara turns to her, waiting until she drinks some water to ease the coughing. Once she’s done, wiping a tear from her eye and motioning for him to go on, he returns his attention to his siblings, who were openly gawking at him, “I don’t think it’s a secret that neither of you like me either.”

“Well,” Kankuro starts.

Gaara cuts him off with a dismissive shake of his head, telling him to skip the bullshit, “It’s not as though I could blame you for it. Our father kept me segregated and, when we did have contact, I was openly hostile. I understand.” His gaze levels, “But he’s gone, and the village needs us. I am willing to move forward, if you are.”

Temari is the first to speak, a barely concealed smile on her lips, “Actually, y’know, that sounds great.”

“Yeah,” Kankuro nods, glancing over to Sakura, and then back to Gaara, “it would be nice to actually feel like an older brother for once.”

“You’re too late for that, Gaara’s already a higher rank than you,” Temari chuckles.

“Ah,” Gaara perks up with a sudden thought. “It’s come to my attention that it’s pleasant to have company though, so even though we weren’t close as children, I hope you will do me the honor of visiting frequently. Even if it’s not for work.”

The siblings agree, looking significantly more comfortable than when they’d arrive. Sakura chalks it up as a win. Sure, Baki, Temari, and Kankuro are practically the only people that she really knows here, but she’ll continue to nudge Gaara toward allies and he’ll have a better reputation before he knows what’s hit him. She shifts in her chair, and there’s a sudden twinge from her developing bruise.

It must be evident on her face, because Gaara leans toward her, not so-subtly asking, “Are you in pain from earlier?”

The table stills. Sakura pretends she suddenly finds her dinner very interesting. Temari and Kankuro both watch Gaara expectently. “I’m fine,” Sakura grumbles.

Kankuro offers an excuse, “Oh, did you tweak something at the dance lesson?”

Sakura opens her mouth to answer that she fell in the shower, before Gaara cuts in, “Oh, that’s right, we aren’t supposed to speak of it.”

Kankuro snorts sharply before he can contain himself, and Temari flushes bright red.

“Wait,” Sakura squeaks, mortified, “No! No! That came off totally sketchy, I fell in the shower earlier, and it was embarrassing so I told him not to mention it.”

“Of course,” Temari covers her mouth to hide a wry smile, “my future sister-in-law. We all slip in the shower every once and a while.”

“I’m serious,” Sakura turns to Gaara, her hand angrily thumping the table, “Gaara, tell them!” 

“I’m not supposed to mention it,” Gaara protests. “You said so yourself.”

“Don’t phrase it that way, it sounds scandalous!” Sakura huffs incredulously, beet red.

Kankuro openly cackles, “You can hardly call it scandalous, I guess. They put you in this room together. Who would’ve thought though?”

“I don’t understand,” Gaara mumbles, narrowing his eyes.

“Your tone implied, well,” Sakura grumbles, averting her eyes, “something inappropriate.”

Gaara looks at her quizzically.

Temari smacks Kankuro on the shoulder, jovially announcing, “Hah, your baby brother got laid before you.” 

“Oh,” Gaara muses, flatly denying, “Oh, no, I’m not suggesting we had sex.”

“Thank you!” Sakura groans, shoving aside her plate to lay her head on the table, “Someone tell the earth to swallow me into the ground.”

“Don’t say that,” Gaara huffs. “They misunderstood. Is the notion of someone thinking we had sex so terrible?”

_ “Gaara!” _ Temari inhales sharply, her hand still covering her mouth, tears springing to her dark eyes. 

Sakura looks up at him, and spotting his sour expression, turns away in an emphasized huff, “It’s not that! Come on, don’t make me feel guilty when you’re the cause of the misunderstanding.”

“Okay, okay,” Kankuro holds his hands up to keep the peace. “Enough out of you two, we believe you.” 

The rest of dinner delves slowly into business, but the mood is casual—fun, even, which isn’t something the Sand siblings could have expected out of their time together. Temari has a friend whose husband handles a significant portion of the school administration, and offers to set up a meeting between them. Kankuro regularly spars with a Chunin whose mother chairs at Suna's small hospital. 

Near the end of their meal, as Gaara and Sakura move to clean up their guest’s dishes, he asks, “Do you think Baki would have time to mentor Sakura, so she can continue her career?” He glances over at her apologetically, “I would like for you to be able to keep your home title if possible, as a Konohagakure shinobi or ambassador, but I’m not yet sure what channels to push it through. I worry that you’ll get bored here. At least if you could train, then you could maintain your skills. Of course, you don’t have to.” 

Sakura smiles, pleased, “That would be awesome!” The idea of being able to get outside, and maybe explore Suna, was also a bright possibility. Besides, the Suna shinobi are strong, and she can’t help but be a little excited at the prospect of learning from their former teacher.

“You could just order him to,” Kankuro quips. “Then he’ll have to make time.”

Temari side eyes him warily, “You could just  _ ask him nicely. _ I’m sure Baki would be honored that you trust him.” 

“Yes,” Gaara muses, caught on that word. Trust. It’s an interesting change of pace. He looks over to Sakura, daydreaming about the prospect of exploring beyond their tiny suite and her etiquette lessons, and catches himself before the pause grows too long. 

They stack the dishes, waiting for them to be picked up, and Gaara makes a mental note to ask Baki during their next encounter. 

Sakura wonders whether they’d let her keep her title or, considering their circumstances, they’d shift her over into a Sand shinobi. She thinks fondly of her Leaf headband, tucked away in her suitcase, and her heart constricts at the prospect. She knew she’d be losing her role on Team Seven, and as a Leaf shinobi, when she came here. Still, it stung, at least a little. But Gaara is going to become the Kazekage, after all. Perhaps there were strings yet to be pulled. At least she could stay sharp. 


	4. Chapter Four: Not Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not me getting ahead on NaNoWriMo so I can write this >.> Hope everyone is having a good night. I live in the US so waiting for election results was really stressing me out, so I thought some of my favorite tropes might be good for us all. :)

# An Opaque Veil

### Chapter Four: Not Today

True to Gaara’s word, he’s arranged for Sakura to train with Baki on the day after his first council meeting as the Kazekage elect. Sakura’s lessons, from dancing to silverware, had been postponed on her orders so that she could help him prepare. The week leading up to the meeting was, as Sakura would describe it, _fucking rough._ She could write a report on the state of the education budget or the division of resources between the border towers—honestly, some of this information sounded like it should be confidential, but Baki no longer bat an eye at Sakura looking over the papers with Gaara.

Once, when Gaara happened to be in the restroom as Baki came to drop off their dinner, Sakura asked him if it was appropriate for her to read some of those documents. 

“Probably not,” he whispered conspiratorially, “but you keep him on task. Gaara is secretly the kind of person who does what he wants.”

Sakura was taken aback by that, leaning in to quietly whisper in his defense, “That’s not true, he’s working very hard.” 

“Might have something to do with wanting to impress his intelligent, capable fiancé.” 

“He wants to impress the council,” Sakura protested, unloading the dishes with irritated clanks, “and the village.” 

Baki hummed dismissively, before he wished her a good meal and left. 

The night before the council meeting starts similarly to their past several nights, sleepy eyes looking over row after row of reports and proposals. “So, the council is calling for a tax increase on luxury items to pay for repairs to the western guard towers,” Sakura mumbles, scooting her chair next to Gaara so that they could share the open binder. “Did you decide what you think of these numbers?” 

“I _think_ I’m not ready for this meeting,” Gaara huffs, leaning forward to look over the document. He can feel his eyes growing heavy. They’ve been at it all day, and Gaara had been studying late into the night—after he shoos Sakura off to bed—for the past week. He misses the book. He misses relaxing and thinking about nothing. If not nothing, at least not damn numbers. 

“Yes you are,” Sakura says, her fingers lazily tracing a sentence on the page. “You’re gonna do great. You worked too hard to doubt yourself now.” She blinks groggily, trying to force her attention to the numbers, her head bobbing with the effort to stay awake, “Now come on, what are your thoughts on the tax?”

“I don’t think the burden should be entirely on luxury goods,” Gaara says, leaning on his desk, eyes fluttering shut. “We should spread… the burden…” He trails off into a yawn, turning to see Sakura, eyes closed, head lolled to the side.

He stifles a chuckle. Alright, he would review this one more time, and then he would wake her up and send her off to bed. He just has to sit up and finish looking at these numbers, and then he can meditate to rest for his meeting tomorrow. His eyelids grow heavy, cheek pressed to the paper on the desk.

The rush of sand wakes him up, followed instantly by Sakura’s alarmed shriek. Gaara’s eyes snap open, mind full of only panic as he pulses his chakra to call the sand back to him. He sucks in sharp breath after breath, gasping for air.

Sakura, sprawled on the floor next to her overturned chair, narrows her eyes in an accusatory glare as the sand pulls back from her. She says nothing, her shoulders square, too frightened to speak. 

“It’s not—” Gaara starts between breaths, feeling the surge of foreign chakra burning in his temple, the demon making his presence known. “I didn’t mean—” 

Sakura uses her hands to scoot backward, unable to gain the leverage to get up. A shiver runs up her spine—his eyes, they’re gone. Rather, black and gold have bled over into them. The sand slithers back toward him, practically crawling up his skin and around him as it returns to the sand armor he wears—Sakura had forgotten about that. He wears it all the time? Even when he’s just with her? He’s becoming the monster from the woods. Sakura trembles as a surge of nausea rises.

“No,” Gaara bites out, a hand covering one of his transformed eyes as he cringes with the pain, knocking his own chair over as he rushes out of the room. _“No.”_ He can feel the Shukaku—that violent thrum of hate clawing at the back of his mind—that he is a monster, a killer, and if it’s not today, it’s only a matter of time. Kill her. He can hear it like a beacon. _Kill her._ He grits his teeth, heading for his room.

The noise catches in her throat at first, but Sakura scrambles to find her footing, darting forward even as her heart hammers in her chest. “Gaara,” she manages, her feet moving on their own, her arms outstretched to try and catch him, “Gaara, _wait!”_

He doesn’t, hand violently twisting the doorknob to his room and storming inside. Without looking back, he snarls, voice strained, “Sakura, leave. Now.” He enters, slamming the door behind him.

It’s a warning. And she knows she should heed it, but Sakura has rarely listened to a warning to back down in her life, and this is Gaara. He’s her friend, and he’s suffering, right? She has to try something. She reaches the knob seconds later, twisting it, and she’s surprised that it turns—her door has a lock, and she assumes his does too. “Gaara, let me help you. What’s happening? What can I do?” She nudges the door forward, but he stops its progress with a firm thud from the other side.

“Don’t,” he calls back wearily, “please.” 

Sakura’s hand clenches the knob, knuckles white with the force of her squeeze. Her other hand presses to the panel of the door. “Can I just… sit out here or something?” Her voice breaks, and she inhales deeply to muster up the courage she knows she needs, “I—I’m right here. Okay? When you’re ready, can I be here for you?” 

There’s silence from the other side of the door for a long while. Gaara partly wants to tell her to go, and honestly, to go as far as her feet will carry her away from him. But he finds himself hoarsely saying, “Okay,” and sliding down to sit on the floor, his weight stopping the door from opening more than a few inches. 

Sakura, hearing him slide down, does the same. She’s still shaking—still terrified—but he’s here, he’s talking to her, and he’s still Gaara. The same old Gaara who consistently looked out for her, who was ready to barge into the bathroom on her behalf—Sakura swallows a bitter laugh at that. Alright, she understands him a little better now. They’re friends. This is the least she can do, for a friend. “Can you tell me what’s happening?”

“The Shukaku—I can’t sleep. My seal is weakened when I sleep, and he’s trying…” Gaara trails off, watching the tremor in his hands.

Sakura can fill in the blanks. He’s trying to escape. Probably even trying to kill her. It’s not just the blanks in the story—Sakura thinks of the Chunin Exam, of his general instability, and his fervent bloodlust. She gulps. “Well, you’re awake now, so he’s not going to get out.” She didn’t know that, but she hopes it sounds reassuring. “Everything is going to be okay.” 

“Right,” he mumbles. He tries to think only of her voice, of letting her words drown out the presence creeping at the edge of his mind. “Okay.” 

Her fingers creep through the few inches of open doorway, drumming softly on the floor. “What can I do to help?”

His fingers dart out to grab hers, gripping them in his palm, and though she’s startled, she doesn’t pull away. “Aren’t you scared?” He asks her, relieved to feel his racing heart begin to slow.

“Duh!” Sakura surprises him with that answer. She sniffles, going on, “But like, aren’t you scared too? And what, was I supposed to leave you scared and alone?”

Gaara grits his teeth, emotional at that, and he squeezes her fingers in his palm. “Thank you.” Of course he’s scared. He’s always scared. “But what if next time I—” Don’t wake up in time? Listen to that little, terrible voice? Never come back, not really, not as himself at least. 

“Then I for one think I’d make an excellent living as a ghost. I’m a very nosy person, actually.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“It’s a little funny. Excellent living? As a ghost? Come on.” 

Frustrated, he tugs on her fingers, “What if I hurt you? It wouldn’t even be the first time. What if I kill you?”

“Enough with the ‘what ifs.’ What if anything? What if the next time I go to take a shower, I slip again and break my neck? Not today. These terrible, scary what ifs didn’t happen today. We can be careful, and we can be prepared, and if something still happens after that then I know we’ll do our best, right? I’m afraid of the Shukaku, sure, because I’m a rational person with a survival instinct. But I’m not afraid of _you.”_ Sakura wiggles her fingers, trying to indicate, gently, that his grip is too tight.

He lets go completely, catching her off guard. 

“Gaara?” She starts to turn, but the door opens swiftly behind her, and Sakura squeals as she falls back, having lost her balance. 

He yanks her up unceremoniously, jaw clenched tightly as he pulls her into his arms. 

Sakura stiffens, before relaxing, her arms wrapping snugly around him. When he nestles his face into her, his cheek pressed to the side of her neck, and his shoulders begin to shake, Sakura moves to rub his back. “Alright,” Sakura says, relieved to see the Gaara she knows, with the dangerous sand no longer swirling across his skin. With one of her hands, she rubs soothingly up and down his spine, “You’re okay, it’s over.”

The pair slides slowly back down to the floor, exhausted, all of their stress built up to this breaking point. “You can rely on me more, you know,” Sakura hums. She’s never considered herself a comforting presence—she reminds herself of her parents most of the time, and she knows for a fact Sasuke finds her overbearance annoying. But with Gaara so upset, clinging to her shirt like this, she can’t help but want to baby him, at least a little. 

“I already rely on you too much,” he protests softly, voice muffled. 

“That’s not true,” Sakura reaches up, her fingers running through the wisps of his bright crimson hair. “Maybe for your next meeting I can help outline the topics, so we can be more organized about what we cover. Plus, I had been pulling you away from work for dance lessons when we could’ve focused better so you weren’t cramming.”

He melts at the gentle tread of her fingertips, his shoulders sagging. “I like dancing with you.” He doesn’t like the idea of creating more work for her either.

Sakura smiles warmly at that, “We’ll find a work-life balance eventually. Is it possible for you to meditate? You still need at least some rest for the morning.”

His grip tightens around her waist, and childishly, he admits, “I don’t want you to go. Stay with me tonight?”

Sakura pauses, caught off guard for a moment. Surely Gaara, who consistently missed innuendos, wouldn’t have understood the thought that flashed through her mind, making her cheeks burn. But with him so vulnerable, she didn’t want to leave him alone either, so she agrees, “Alright. I can sleepover, and you can get some rest for tomorrow, deal?”

Once he agrees, for the first time, the pair shakily rising to their feet, Gaara flips on the light switch.

Sakura gawks, still loosely wrapped in his arms and observing his room for the very first time, “It’s so normal.” A simple bed with maroon blankets, a nightstand with her book and a lamp perched on top, a clock on the wall, and a dresser next to his closet door. There’s a view, similar to Sakura’s, but no loveseat like in her room.

“What did you expect?” Gaara asks, pulling her toward the bed. He clicks the lamp on, only now letting go of her, wiping his watery eyes on his sleeve.

Sakura chuckles awkwardly, “I don’t know, posters of girls?” Part of her thinks of changing into her pajamas—and then she thinks her leggings and shirt combo might be more appropriate than anything she packed to sleep in, so it’s probably best to stay in them. It’s not like when her village shipped her off for an arranged marriage, she expected sleepovers. She sits on the edge of his bed, feeling like she’s intruding in foreign territory, “Trash everywhere? You keep the door closed all the time, so I just assumed there was something personal or embarrassing.” 

He shoots her a quizzical look, “Is this how the boys’ rooms in Konoha look?” He crosses the room, turning off the main light, the glow of the lamp keeping him visible with its soft glow. 

“Well, uh, I’ve only been to Naruto’s room, and only because we were all hanging out,” Sakura shrugs, putting off getting in the blankets. She flushes, intensely aware that she’s alone, in a bedroom, with her fiancé—no matter how situational that engagement may be. “It’s gross. Trust me, if you ever see it, you’ll know what I mean.” 

Gaara crosses the room toward her, and just as Sakura starts to get nervous, he takes a seat on the floor, his back pressed to the side of the bed. “Alright,” he says to a stupified Sakura, “sleep well.”

Sakura glances to the pillows to her left, and then down at Gaara, “You’re sleeping… on the floor?”

He shoots her a quizzical glance, eyes reflecting the soft glow of his lamp, “Of course. Sharing a bed is intimate, is it not? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Sakura’s touched at the sentiment, shooting another furtive glance to the pillows, mulling over her decision. “Well,” she mumbles, scooting back on the bed, “it is pretty intimate, but not all intimacy is romantic. I don’t want to make you sleep on the floor in your own room, especially when you’re the one who needs rest. Besides, you wouldn’t do anything inappropriate, right?”

“Of course not,” Gaara says, slowly rising to his feet. He hesitates, waiting for Sakura to make the first move. 

Sakura scoots to the other side of the bed, nervously tucking herself into the covers. It’s her first time sharing a bed with a boy—but it’s Gaara. It’s totally platonic. Right? He sees her as a friend. Actual romance doesn’t even cross his mind. She’s just someone who’s there for him, someone he can trust, and she wants to be that person for him. So she nestled under the cover, her head hitting the pillow, the long day weighing heavily on her.

Gaara lifts the covers, clicks the lamp off, and slides into bed. He can sense her there, opposite him, and he feels at ease. His fingers find hers under the cover, holding her hand in his own. He traces his thumb over her skin, lips pulling into a thin smile. He feels his breathing slow, gradually fading into that sweet spot between awake and asleep.

Sakura, on the other hand, is horribly, terribly burdened with how awake and aware of his hand in hers she is. She lays there, eyes wide, focuses on the gentle lull of his breathing as he meditates—he’s done this every day forever, right? Does she need to be nervous? Her eyes flicker down to the covers, under which they’re holding hands to fall asleep—there’s no squirreling around that. But what does that mean to her, or to him? It’s a long while until her frazzled brain settles, exhausted and forced to rest. 

“Lord Gaara,” frantic knocking on Gaara’s bedroom door wakes them both, Sakura having moved in to bridge the distance between them in her sleep. Baki bursts in, finding the pair like that, Gaara’s arm loosely wrapped around Sakura and her head tucked into his chest. 

Sakura’s head bumps his chin as she jolts back, but if he feels it through his sand armor, his expression stays blank. She rubs the top of her head gingerly, and that earns Gaara’s attention, his hand flickering up as he uncertainly tries to figure out how to comfort her. 

Baki needs a second to register the scene before him, but he’s forced to push it to the backburner. “Lord Gaara, you need to get ready. Now. The meeting is about to start.”

Gaara sits up, panic on his face. “I’m late?”

Baki gawks, “Wh—Not yet, but you need to get dressed. I dropped off breakfast an hour ago. You’re never in bed this late, what—?” He looks critically at Sakura, and then back at Gaara, trying to weigh the pros and cons of asking whether or not Sakura is in danger. “Nevermind. We need to go.”

Gaara tosses the covers aside, moving quickly to yank out formal clothes. 

Sakura slides out of the bed, pausing to make the covers for him, awkwardly unsure of what to do. 

Baki looks visibly relieved that no one is naked.

Gaara changes quickly, Sakura and Baki politely averting their eyes. He puts on a formal maroon overcoat and black trousers, and when he’s ready to rush out he hesitates, glancing back at Sakura.

Sakura smiles warmly, “You’re going to do great.”

Gaara squares his shoulders, clearly nervous, “Yes, thank you.”

“We have to go,” Baki ushers Gaara out the door. “Lady Sakura, please, breakfast is waiting for you. Have an excellent day.”

Sakura watches them go uncertainly, wandering into their living room to pick at the room temperature fruit waiting for her. Beside her plate, to her delight, she sees a small stack of letters. One from her parents, one from Naruto, one from Kakashi, one from Ino, and there at the bottom, one from even Sasuke.


	5. Chapter Five: I Am Rich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! :) Thank you for reading and for your comments, I hope you enjoy! For those of you who don't check my profile (or for those who don't know I post a status on there every few days or so, so you don't have to worry I've abandoned anything), I have Covid. The worst of the symptoms are gone, but writing has been somewhat difficult—between being sick and still prepping for Christmas, it's been difficult to write more than a few hundred words at a time, which isn't my usual pace at all. So, thank you all for being patient with me! Also, I did complete NaNoWriMo for my other story, and so I know fans of this story have been waiting an extra long time for an update, so if you only read this story and not Routes then double thank you for your patience.

# An Opaque Veil

### Chapter Five: I Am Rich

Gaara sits in the meeting room, long after all the councilmembers finished picking at the hors d'oeuvres, said their goodbyes to the Kazekage-elect, and left. Now, with just Gaara and Baki left in the room, Baki hovers near the door and wonders why Gaara isn’t moving at all.

Finally, the silence growing more awkward by the moment, Baki speaks up, “Gaara… you did very well.”

“Yes, I know,” Gaara says, face placid, his hands folded together on top of the table. Next to his hands on the table, his notes are heavily annotated with comments from the councilmembers and marks where they complimented his contributions to the discussions. 

Baki hesitates, glancing around to make sure no one else is in earshot, “Why... are you still sitting there?”

Gaara slowly turns his head toward him, his lips slowly spreading into a small smile, “I understood the conversation, Baki. They liked my points, they said. They approved our picks for advisors. Even my father didn’t have his first picks approved.” 

“Yes,” Baki reiterates, plotting a course to bring him out of his haze, and deviating from the council’s general fear of angering the young man—and the relief that his picks were competent choices—that left them a bit more agreeable than normal. “You should go celebrate your success with Lady Sakura. She worked very hard to help you. Don’t forget that the council asked you to discuss a tentative wedding date with her.”

“A wedding date,” Gaara repeats fondly, rising to his feet. He begins to gather up his notes and pens. “I’ll discuss a wedding date with my fiancé. Goodbye, Baki.”

Baki shifts on his feet, a little awe-struck as Gaara leaves the room, “Goodbye, Lord Gaara.” Between this morning and his reaction to doing well at the meeting, well, this behavior undermined every directive that had been drilled into him for dealing with the Jinchuuriki. He watches warily as the young man heads down the hall. Several councilmembers, and Gaara’s own siblings, had privately inquired about the welfare of Sakura Haruno—the Leaf Genin thought to be unfortunate in being chosen as Gaara’s fiancé. He’d had good news to report—they got along well, Sakura seemed to be able to help him understand difficult reports—but what’s he supposed to say about this morning? He’d found them in bed together, fully clothed, but still. He can only imagine the riot amongst the councilmembers when they found out. Should they be alarmed?

Baki shakes his head. He’s not Gaara’s father—and besides that, Gaara’s doing well. Reporting on every secret or scandal between an otherwise functioning, perhaps even happy, couple will only serve to make the old folks nosy. Besides, an engaged couple getting along is hardly a scandal in the first place. It’s more than he could have hoped for. 

Gaara opens the door, eager to brag about how well the meeting had gone, only to find Sakura sprawled out on the sofa. There’s a letter open across her chest as she naps, her head propped on the arm of the chair, her pink hair half pulled into a bun. He freezes at the entrance, quelling his excitement, and he quietly closes the door behind him as he enters. Gaara approaches, looking over her and wondering what he should do. He notices the writing on the letter, the contents finishing on the back of the page, signed by none other than Sasuke Uchiha. She’d fallen asleep reading it. Did that mean its contents were boring, or that she’d reread the letter until she fell asleep on the couch? He observes her sleeping form once more. Surely, she’d be more comfortable in a bed. He thinks fondly of resting with her once more—

No, bringing her into his room would be ...inappropriate, wouldn’t it? She’d agreed to it last night, but waking up in his room when she’d fallen asleep on the couch would be jarring—maybe Sakura would even be frightened. He glanced toward her door, which she’d even left wide open, but that felt like a breach of trust too. If he carries her into her room, who knows what she has in there that she wouldn’t want him to see? He needs to tread carefully, or she would come to hate him. Gaara dreads the idea of losing his first friend. Then, he’s distracted once more. She looks lovely. A wisp of her hair is caught on her lip, and his fingers twitch out to move it, but he holds back. Unsure what to do, he clears his throat.

“Mm,” Sakura’s voice rouses him from his thoughts, “Gaara?” Sakura groggily sits up, her hands pulling the letter down and to her lap. Catching a second wind of realization, she perks up, “You’re back! Well? How did it go?”

Gaara brightens at her enthusiasm, smiling softly, budding with newfound pride in his work and bragging about said work to Sakura, “It went very well. Councilman Saizo, who has never had a kind word to say for as long as I’ve known him, liked our insight on the hospital budget and the renovations of the border towers—” Gaara falters, his head tilting, “I told them that we worked on this together, I hope you don’t mind.”

Sakura chuckles, amused with his bright, doe-eyed expression, “Yes, that’s fine, if they don’t mind me helping you.” She scoots over, patting for him to sit beside her.

Gaara obliges, going on, “They’ve approved Temari and Kankuro as members of the council, and compiled a list of the sitting council’s qualifications and areas of expertise for me to review. Nothing is official until I’m actually the Kazekage, but it’s a little strange… These people were essentially in charge of my childhood, and the village around me, and I could fire him if I wanted.”

Sakura quirks a brow at that, “And do you want to?” 

He considers that for a moment—Gaara had a miserable childhood and surely some of them, if not all, at least knew about his father’s attempts on Gaara’s life. But he doesn’t want to dim the brightness in her jade eyes with sad memories, so he upturns his nose, “Well, I’ll have to review their qualifications, won’t I?”

They hold a pregnant pause before Sakura snorts sharply, and Gaara follows her into laughter. 

It’s nice, she thinks—the way Gaara laughs. It’s not an expression she would’ve ever thought she’d see, at least in the form of cheerful laughter versus something bloodthirsty and maniacal. It’s not the first time Sakura thought he was handsome, and she finds her cheeks flushing, her fingers fumbling with the edges of her letter as she remembers—it’s Sasuke she likes, and Gaara is a friend, and a situational friend at that: a fiancé by circumstances out of both of their control.

Gaara notices the movement, finally addressing the letter he’d already noticed, “Looks like you’ve received some letters from home?”

“Oh,” Sakura sheepishly folds the letter, “yes, everyone’s responded. I’ll have to write back to them all later today. My parents are a little more at ease, now that I’ve told them it’s pretty nice here. And Ino practically wrote me a novel. She’s an old childhood sort of friend of mine—the one I fought in the Chunin Exams, do you remember the pretty blonde?” 

“No,” Gaara retorts, dismissively shaking his head. “I remember you though. You cried out when I beat that man, the one with the…” He trails off, gesturing to his hair and brows. 

“Yes, Rock Lee,” Sakura quirks an eyebrow at the memory, her lips pulling into a frown. 

Gaara grows flustered, his brow knitting, “Is he well? I… lost control in that battle, and that’s not something I’m proud of. It’s difficult for me to understand people supporting you even when you’ve lost.” He averts his eyes, admitting, “I actually came to the hospital afterward to further attack him. Like I said, I’m not proud of it.”

“He’s still in recovery,” Sakura answers quietly, averting her own eyes. “Naruto told me about that, actually. The Chunin Exams were certainly a dark time, but Lee is a friend of mine—and he totally saved my life in the Forest of Death—so it was painful to see him hurt that way. Being a shinobi is harder than I thought it would be, you know? That sounds silly to say out loud.” Sakura sets the letter aside and reaches out, resting her hand on top of his, “But hopefully everything will work out in the end. Maybe you’ll even see him again someday. If you could apologize, that would mean a lot to me.”

Gaara intertwines his fingers with hers, eager for the contact, “I will. He saved your life? I owe him more than an apology, I owe him my deepest gratitude.” His thumb grazes over her skin slowly, “I’d like to hear that story.” 

“Alright,” Sakura leans back, the nightmare that was the Chunin Exams flashing through her mind, “where to begin? So, you remember how dreadful the Forest of Death was, right?”

“Not really, we finished the second exam within an hour.” He withers under the look of disbelief that Sakura shoots him, “It was… humid. That wasn’t pleasant. You had long hair before that exam, didn’t you? Is that why you cut it?”

Sakura scoffs, her sour mood dissipating with her amusement, “Not exactly. While you were noticing the humidity on your walk, we were ambushed by Orochimaru practically out of the gate. Of course, we didn’t know that it was him at the time, but we got our asses kicked. Sasuke and Naruto were unconscious, and I was the only one to defend them when a trio of Sound ninja—also under orders of Orochimaru—attacked. I had traps set up, but I wasn’t strong enough, and one of them had me by the hair. So, I chopped it off.” Sakura shrugs, her free hand reaching up to fiddle with the wispy ends of her pink hair, “After that, Lee showed up unprompted and saved me, and a few more Leaf shinobi came to help shortly after. I was in deep shit, and without them, probably wouldn’t have made it—” Sakura glances over at Gaara and pauses, alarmed by the intensity of his expression.

Gaara glowers, his eyes fixed on their joint hands, his fingers tightening their grip. “I will…” Gaara starts, not sure where the thought is leading, “wage war on the Sound. I’ll demand it of the council immediately upon becoming the Kazekage.” 

“Wh—What?” Sakura sputters, leaning over to tentatively bump her shoulder with his, “Hey now, we got engaged because neither of our villages wanted a war, right?”

Gaara’s shoulders tense, and he knows she’s right, but he can’t help the anger burning like a hot coal in the pit of his stomach, “Right.” He bumps her shoulder back. 

“Besides, the point of that story is that I’m fine,” Sakura muses, “and I think Orochimaru killed all of those Sound ninja in some wild ghost sacrifice. I still can’t believe that all happened.”

“I missed most of it,” Gaara winces, recalling the fight in the woods where he’d injured Sakura. “I lost control during the Sasuke fight. Seems to be a pattern there. And you, I…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sakura rests her head on his shoulder. “The Sound will get what’s coming to them, once there’s a new Hokage, and once you’re set as the Kazekage, right? Everything is going to be okay.”

Gaara rests his head on hers, his cheek pressed to the crown of her head, “I’ll make sure it is.” His gaze flickers back over to the letter, and he wonders what Sasuke Uchiha had to say to her that spanned a page front and back, but he knows it’s not his place. That hot coal flickers in his gut once more. “I was thinking that we should sneak out.”

Sakura sits straight up, and Gaara grunts at the abrupt loss of contact. “Really?” Sakura asks, her eyes bright, her lips breaking into a grin, “You won’t get into trouble?”

“We won’t get caught,” Gaara straightens, her excitement putting a smile on his own lips. “I trust they taught a transformation jutsu at your academy?”

“Yes,” Sakura shoots to her feet, her hand breaking free of his as she looks out the window and over their balcony to their view of the city, “I can’t wait! Can we see the square?”

“Absolutely,” Gaara watches her flutter in front of the glass, looking out over the crowd they would later join. “We’ll go after dinner, so Baki doesn’t expect anything. I can give you a tour of the city and I think you should see the best view of the sunset the city has to offer. After that, we can return to the square for a while and enjoy the night market.” 

Sakura squeals, returning, throwing her arms around Gaara in a hug forceful enough for his sand to surge sharply in order to stop them both from falling off the couch. “Sorry, sorry,” Sakura bounces back to her feet, “just like, the prospect of getting out of this suite and getting to stretch our legs—it’s going to be amazing.” 

Gaara marvels, watching her practically flutter off to her room, declaring that she needs to decide what to wear. She hesitates, turning back to grab the folded letter, and she takes it with her when she goes. Once her door is closed, he glances back at the spot where the letter had sat. He recognizes the emotion weighing on his chest as jealousy, but he’s never experienced it in this context. Sure, he’s coveted friendships before, but Sakura’s already declared she’s his friend. Still, the thought of Sasuke writing sweet words to her, as her self-declared true love, grinds his nerves. He rubs his temple, deciding to go take a shower to soothe his frazzled mind.

Sakura, in her room, digs through her wardrobe. Her eyes are consistently drawn back to her more colorful dresses—red is her signature, but she also has a variety of greens that compliment her eyes, and a few soft yellows—but she knows that the people of Suna wear more muted colors, so she settles on a beige dress and a dusty pink linen scarf meant to protect her neck from the sweltering sun and provide warmth once the sun sets. Baki had given her some clothing in the traditional Suna style, to acclimate her to wearing it before roasting in the sun—but for a night of fun, it’s worth being a little hot.

Sakura glances guiltily at the letter she’d set on her bed, but she didn’t want Gaara to read it. There had been a time where she’d have sold her left kidney for a handwritten letter from Sasuke, especially one with more words than she thinks he’s ever said to her in real life. She’d be lying if she said her heart hadn’t fluttered when she’d opened it, when she saw the length of the letter and considered how long he’d taken to write to her. But once she’d read it, she realized he wasn’t writing to her at all, not really. 

She sets her dress on the bed, her hands fidgeting with the linen scarf as she wonders how to respond. The letter wasn’t so much for her as it was an insult to Gaara, sentence upon sentence slandering the Leaf and Sand for this stupid decision and calling Gaara a monster. There’s not a mention of himself, or how he’s doing, or even a response to her. 

Sakura thinks of Gaara’s expression, of the fear there as a Jinchuuriki who could be taken over if he lets his guard down, and grows annoyed with Sasuke. Sure, their group had a history with Gaara—but Naruto’s a Jinchuuriki too, and he’s no monster. Sakura knew she hasn’t been the kindest to Naruto, but most of it was annoyance at foolish behavior… Does Sasuke think of their teammate—her former teammate, but still, they’re all friends at this point—that way? 

She fights the impulse to destroy the letter and be done with it. Sasuke is smarter than that. Maybe he isn’t taking her words regarding Gaara at face value, and he needs convincing. Or maybe he’s jealous. Sakura holds in a bark of a laugh at that. Sasuke,  _ jealous. _ Jealous over  _ her. _ No, Sakura knows perfectly well that Sasuke is simply stubborn. The most stubborn person she knows, actually. She’d fallen asleep trying to think of something to convince him—Sakura rolls her eyes at the thought. She’d probably have to appeal to Naruto and Kakashi to talk to him, Sasuke had never listened to her anyway.

A pair of sandals catches her eyes, and Sakura refocuses on the task at hand—picking an outfit for a night out with Gaara. Of course, with the transformation jutsu, it doesn’t necessarily matter… but it’s part of the fun, right? Right.

One dinner scarfed down too quickly later, and the pair makes their escape from the Kazekage’s suite and onto the stone streets of Sunagakure with an ease that surprises Sakura. They’d transformed already—a pair of brown-haired and dark-eyed young adults that would blend seamlessly into the crowd, Gaara leading Sakura hand-in-hand through the city. 

He points out everywhere that’s familiar to him, prompting Sakura to ask, “Did you transform and walk around the city often?”

“No,” Gaara chuckles wearily, his newly dark eyes looking off into the crowd, “I snuck out often, but never in disguise. I wanted people to know it was me. I don’t know if you’ll understand, but if I felt their hate and fear, then at least I felt something. It was better than nothing at all.”

Sakura gives a soft frown at that, her fingers squeezing his hand, “So why are we in disguise this time?”

“I don’t want them to look at you that way,” Gaara says, before diverting her toward the town square. “Come, let’s look at the shops—I didn’t bring you here to tell you sad stories.”

Sakura hardly even registers that they’re holding hands, her head constantly turning to take in the architecture. Everything from fat cats in window sills to the slope of a street lamp felt new and exciting when she’s been cooped up for so long, and Sakura didn’t have a chance to truly see the city when she’d been brought here. Gaara pulls her into a shop stall, where a merchant is set up with fine fabrics and jewelry set along tables and strung from above. 

The merchant says a brief greeting to the pair, but he’s busy showing off a bundle of fine furs for another customer, so Gaara and Sakura are free to browse. Sakura starts to carefully pick through tidy piles of linen scarves, much like her own.

Gaara prods her whenever he finds something, but Sakura quickly notices that he only seems interested in shopping for her, and the items he picks would ordinarily be too expensive for Sakura: ornate white gold meant to be worn in her hair and by her ears, a jade pendant, fabrics patterned in embroidered soft pink petals, and necklaces adorned with fine diamonds. 

Sakura notices they’ve caught the merchant’s eye, and it’s no surprise considering the value of the items Gaara’s collected and slung over the crook of his elbow. She leans in to whisper to him, “You’re acting rich.”

Gaara quirks a brow at her, “I am rich.” 

Before Sakura can remind him of the point of going undercover, the merchant approaches, giving them a large smile, “I see our young gentleman has found some of our finer pieces. Would you care for me to hold those as you browse?”

Ah, Sakura realizes, the merchant didn’t realize that Gaara’s wealthy. He thinks Gaara’s here to steal. 

“Yes, thank you,” Gaara thinks nothing of it, handing over the goods.

Pleased with Gaara’s promptness, and perhaps convinced that they’re authentic customers, the merchant begins to gesture to other beautifully embroidered fabrics, “Is there anything else that’s caught your eye, sir?” He starts to babble on to Gaara about imported goods, and the latest trends from other countries, and how this or that has traveled the far sea to be here in Suna today.

Sakura begins to pick through the scarves, finding something in tan with maroon threading. She waits for a lull in conversation, before offering it out to Gaara, “I think this would look nice on you. You like tans and maroons.”

Gaara only watches her wide-eyed for a moment, and Sakura has to blink away the oddity of it not being his familiar face when he gives her a small, closed-lip smile and gingerly takes the scarf from her hands. He holds it bunched up in his closed fist, against his heart as he averts his eyes to focus on the merchant, “We’ll take the lot.”

“Excellent, sir,” the merchant responds, perfectly pleased as he lugs the items over to be packed for them to carry. 

“Gaa—” Sakura glances around the stall, barely stopping herself from calling him by name, “Err, but you haven’t picked anything out for yourself.”

“Nonsense,” Gaara says cheekily, reluctant to let go of the scarf until the last moment, allowing the merchant to pack it in the bundle along with his other purchases, “a gift for you is a gift for me.” Gaara reaches into his pocket, pulling out bills as payment and offering them to the merchant.

Sakura squeaks, averting her eyes, her cheeks flushing with her embarrassment.

The merchant chuckles, “Ah, to be young and in love.” He takes Gaara’s money, observing it with a pleased smile before tucking the notes away and returning the change to Gaara. “Many blessings to the happy couple.”

Sakura fights the impulse to protest that they’re just friends, that Gaara has a simple understanding of relationships and probably only wants to make her happy—but it’s too complicated of a dynamic to explain to a stranger, especially when his excessive spending was already straining their cover.

Pleased with himself, Gaara wedges the package under his arm and thanks the merchant, before taking Sakura by the hand and leading her onward. 

The rest of their evening is spent similarly to the first booth—sharing delicious food from street carts and picking out baubles that Sakura insists she doesn’t need, while Gaara holds anything Sakura suggests for him as though it’s made of the finest gold. Soon, the sun is setting, and the pair—with all of their bags in tow—finds a spot to watch the sun set over the city wall.

Gaara leads her to a spot he claims as a favorite, the top of an old church, its roof a soft slope that gives the pair a good view. They settle, spreading their bags around them. At first, they sit side by side against the slope of the roof, watching the shift in colors across the sky as the sun dips below the border wall. They chat about the excitement of the day, and which food booths they’d have to sneak back out to try again, and neither pays any mind to the fact that they’re still hand-in-hand. 

Sakura’s eyes grow heavy, her head lolling to the side, nestling into his shoulder as she drifts off.


End file.
